Past Enemies
by yan6
Summary: Hundreds of years after the Final Battle, the Emperor Voldemort has a rising revolution at his back and the reappearance of an enemy thought to be extinguished. The traitors of the dark search for the missing piece to end the reign of the Dark Lord, but what can they do when Voldemort has their savior's body and the soul is lost? SLASH. VERY DARK. WARNINGS inside. Major OC alert
1. Chapter 0

_**WARNINGS**_**:**

**Homosexual (Explicit) relationships, Heterosexual (Mentioned) relationships, Somnophilia, Pedophilia, sexual intercourse, masturbation, Voyeurism, Anthropophagolgnia, Biastophilia, Chronophilia, Dacryphilia, Erotophonophilia, Aromantic, torture**

**Prologue**

**Chapter Warning: Too many children? Major time jump? Because DAMN son…**

Voldemort stared down at the broken form of his teenage enemy.

All around him were the mutilated and blooded bodies of both ally and foe, but Voldemort could not find a shred of remorse in himself for his loyal followers, the blind sheep that they were. They were useless, extendable. They held no purpose to him other than to help further his own goals.

But not _him_.

Harry Potter.

Even now, with everyone he cared about, everyone he _loved_, dead, and he, himself, struggling to hold on to consciousness, he still refused to give up. To give in to him.

How disgusting.

"When are you going to quit? What's the point in continuing on?"Voldemort questioned curiously. "There is nothing to fight for anymore. I've destroyed everything you've stood for."

There was no way that the light could win now. They had already lost, they were already gone; Harry was now just a final loose end. Once he was gone, the light side would be a long forgotten memory of a group of fools who thought that they could oppose him and ended up being obliterated.

"Don't you know when you've been beaten Harry?"

Voldemort moved closer, bending down slightly to see his opponent's battered face. Harry's lip was split in at least three places, his left eye, black, with a deep laceration under the lower lid. Voldemort could barely see the boy's pale skin beneath the dirt and blood of the fallen victims that lay around him.

"Why don't you just _die already_?"

Harry's head turned to the side, away from Voldemort's curious gaze, so that he stared at the Dark Lord's robed legs, before his eyes traveled back up to meet Voldemort's.

"Why don't you just kill me, _Tom_?"

**-562 years later-**

Armand Crabbe hated the hand he was dealt in life. Yes it was a relatively fair hand compared to some others, but he still highly disliked it.

You see, Armand was a high three-quarter blood. A wizard specifically breed for a specific reason.

His mother, Amelia Kardney, was a half-blood; born between a powerful mud-blood and a moderate pure-blood. His father, Ranneth Standlin, was a low born pureblood. Both had done _something_ in their miserable lives to be punished and lowered to nothing more than genetic breeding ground.

Armand, and others like him, were born solely to marry a pureblood and invite genetic diversity into the gene pool without dirtying the wizarding blood too much.

As you can very well guess, Armand did not take kindly to being a breeding mule. Perhaps he felt this way because he was raised as a pure-blood, and did not feel that one of his station should have to be something so barbarian. But, Armand wasn't a pure-blood. He was a product of selective breeding.

He had never actually met his parents. He wasn't entirely sure if they were actually married or if they were repeatedly paired off with random others to create more three-quarter-bloods (as that was their only apparent purpose now) until they could no longer have children and began working as slaves or servants.

He didn't much care to be honest.

The only families Armand knew were the LeStrange Family, his adoptive family, and the Crabbe Family, his wife's family.

Which brought Armand back to his current dislike for his fortune.

Armand was waiting impatiently for his wife to give birth. Abelina Crabbe was a very beautiful woman. Make no mistake, Armand did not love her, and she did not love him. But he did not regret having her chosen as his wife. Or perhaps it was it more accurate to say that he did not regret being chosen as her husband. No matter what their feelings were for the other, they still had a duty to each other.

As per the agreement of their marriage, Armand and Abelina had had three pureblood children. The only problem was that each of the children were girls. Well, that wasn't necessarily a problem, per say. Hania, Kryspina, and Tacita were all beautiful, bright, and all around excellent heirs to the Crabbe Family.

But Armand and Abelina's marriage agreement stated that of the three children, there had to be at least one girl and one boy.

So Armand and Abelina had had another child. And another. And another. At the present, Armand had a total of twelve daughters: Hania(16), Kryspina(15), Tacita(13), Belva(10), Quin(9), Prima(8), Primrose(8), Maia(7), Candida(5), Rubi(3), Rosemary(3), and Rosalba(3).

Armand did love all of his daughters, but he was at his wits end. He prayed to the Emperor that number thirteen was a boy.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

**Chapter Warnings: arranged marriages, extreme but unnoticed age gap**

"**It's A Political Marriage With Alterative Motives…"**

**-4 years after prologue; Year 566 of the Dark Order-**

_**Armand**_

Armand held Vincens closer to his chest as he watched Tacita kneel in line with the other 17 year olds who were all ready to finally receive their mark and become a member of the Empire. Armand felt his arm burn momentarily as the Emperor stood from his throne and descended the steps off onto the second platform.

Armand watched as his daughter gave a small shiver at having their leader's undivided attention. He gave a miniscule smile behind his ceremonial mask as he remembered Hania, Kryspina, his wife, and himself having the same reaction to the close proximity of their master during their own Marking.

He gave a sympathetic wince when Tacita gave a low hiss that could be heard all the way from his place in the crowd at the searing pain from their master's new mark. He would have to put a salve on that when they got back home. He hoped that she would be able to bear through it until the after party was over.

Armand looked down as his son shuffled in the awkward hold of his kneeling form. Big, green eyes stared back at him and Armand had to contain a shudder. He had been weary when the ceremony first started because it was the first time they had brought Vincens to meet their Lord, as he had been too young to attend during either Hania or Kryspina's Marking ceremony.

Armand let his eyes travel to the giant portrait behind the Emperor's throne. The dark wood of the frame contrasted beautifully with the velvet draping that hung from the high ceiling. Black hair, pale skin, a slight frame, and vibrant green eyes met his gaze.

Armand wasn't sure who the portrait was of. In fact, nobody knew who it depicted. Some say an important ancient figure, others an old concubine. Whoever it was, they once meant a great deal to the Emperor.

Armand just hoped it didn't mean anything bad for his only son. Because as he glanced back down at Vincens, it wasn't hard to find the similarities between the frowning boy in the painting and his son.

Armand snapped back to attention as the Emperor started traveling back up the stairs to give the final speech before the after party. As his Lord gave his speech, Armand's eyes flickered to the shadow behind the throne.

The Matlal.

The "heir" to the General position. This one, formally known as Amun Rortary, was relatively new, only being a Matlal for around 2 months. He just turned 18, almost straight out of school. His father was the Head Law Enforcer and his mother taught the Dark Arts in Misolumière, a highly distinguished school in Egypt.

It was a tremendous achievement to be chosen as a Matlal, but what it entailed, exactly, Armand wasn't sure. The only thing everyone knew about the Matlal, was that they were in position to be the next General, and they were not allowed to speak during the duration of his or her training. Why? Again, no one knew.

"_Armand!_" Armand's head whirled to look at his scowling wife. Her head jerked towards the crowd and Armand noticed that all the others had already stood and were meandering out the door into the Ballroom.

He sheepishly stood up under his fuming wife's glare.

"_It is disrespectful to let your mind wonder while our lord is talking! If any of your awful behavior rubs off on the kids I'll skin you alive!-" _Armand stopped listening as his wife continued to whisper angry threats into his ear as he led his nine other daughters to meet their sister at the stage.

"Well Tacita, it looks like you have become a most beautiful woman. How does it feel to finally be an adult and about to be out of the house, all on your lonesome?" Armand teased his third eldest.

"It _feels,_ Father, that I will be having less headaches without all these little monsters roaming around in my space." Tacita mumbled playfully as the younger girls gave their cries of outrage at being called monsters. Armand smiled at his blushing daughter. She had always been the shyest one of the bunch.

"_Armand!" _Armand gave another wince and gave a returning scowl to his wife. She only glared harder and looked pointedly towards the door. Armand sighed and followed Abelina towards the after party.

One of the things that Armand hated about the Marking ceremony was the fact that Abelina always got grouchy and twitchy under the stress of releasing one of her children into the world. No amount of reassurances could calm her until the day after when she let the fact settle that she was now one kid short.

"Ah, Mrs. Crabbe. How lovely you look tonight."

"Mr. Fletcher! I haven't seen you since the yuletide ball. How is your son? Still on the search for his fiancée, are you?"

Armand blocked out his wife's conversation and looked at his daughter, Belva. She was now the oldest of his children who would still be at home. She had his blonde locks, and her mother's curls and brown eyes. She was truly beautiful and had been set to marry a wealthy German boy, but unfortunately, the boy had died last year, leaving her contract less. She was already fourteen, and there was no one of worth that was her age and without a contract. Armand feared that she would be a maid all her life despite her beauty.

"The triplets are his age you know. Rosalba has yet to be matched. How do you feel of uniting our families?"

"Yes, yes. Rosalba is growing up quite nicely. And both of our children are long past the usual contracting age. Perhaps I will get in touch with you next month to decide on an arrangement?"

Abelina's face curved into a beautiful smile. She had been onto Fletcher for his son's hand since the triplets were born. He had been holding out for the Malfoy's youngest daughter, who was now only 2, since the Malfoys had decided to have another child. But unfortunately for him, she had been given a contract to a Weasley last month after must deliberation. Armand wasn't sure if that was the best match, but hoped it worked out. He was getting annoyed at Mrs. Malfoy and Mr. Weasley badgering at each other at work.

"That sounds like a swell idea. I expect to hear from you then." Abelina purred out.

"Are you happy now, dear?" Armand slipped his arm around his wife's waist. She gave him a sidelong look, but didn't comment.

"Belva is the only one without a husband now. Is it too much to hope that a fourteen year old girl dies soon?" Abelina pouted out. Not that she would ever admit to pouting.

Armand let a gasped laugh slip out and looked at his wife in astonishment. "I don't think we are that desperate yet, dear. We can just go looking somewhere else. Perhaps Japan? Maybe even Cuba."

Abelina's face twisted in disgust. "I want a European step-son. I _only_ want a European step-son."

Armand sighed and stared at his stubborn wife. "Dear, you already have eleven European step-sons. I'm sure that one non-European will not kill you."

Abelina didn't look convinced, but didn't say anything back. Instead her eyes locked with Vincens before quickly looking away and around the ballroom.

Armand's lips pinched.

Ever since Vincens was born, Abelina hadn't held him or kissed him. She didn't act the same way around Vincens as she did with her daughters. It was almost like she feared him. Armand's arms tightened unconsciously around his son and he pulled his arm from his wife's waist. He did not like his wife's attitude towards _their _son.

Suddenly Abelina pressed hard up against his side and Armand looked at her in bewilderment before following her eyes. Armand's own eyes widened on their own accord.

"My lord." He whispered.

**-Dark Lord's Chambers-**

_**Amun (Matlal)**_

Matlal looked around the room with disinterest. He practically lived here. He slept in his own room, of course, but most of his waking moments were spent here.

It was a beautiful room. Dark green walls with various runes in gold gild, a massive green and black silk bed, black furnishing, including: bed, dressers, work-desk, book cases, couches, coffee tables, and side tables. A room, a study, and an office all rolled into one.

The most noticeable and interesting part of the room, though, was the floor. It was made of thick glass and, beneath it, was a room within itself. Filled completely with crystal clear water, there was, submerged within in it, an underwater kingdom. You could see between the long tentacles of seaweed, darting fish and other sea creatures, a throne, not unlike the Lord's.

Sitting in the coral and pearl encrusted throne was the Hostem. The boy in the painting. The mystery.

Matlal was just like everyone else when it came to Hostem. He knew nothing. Well, that wasn't true, he did know more than most people, like the fact that the Hostem was submerged in the Master's room and his "name". But other than that, nothing.

He had heard from the previous Matlal that their Master kept the boy's soul in a separate, hidden container that had once sat on the shelf above the desk. Apparently, she, the Matlal before him, had replaced the Matlal of her days because he had touched the jar, angering the Emperor.

He mysteriously disappeared one day and she had been chosen to take his place. She had been overjoyed, of course, but both he and she were more wary of the Hostem then some of their predecessors.

"Matlal, we are leaving." Matlal looked towards their Lord.

He was a handsome man; tall, dark curls, piercing red eyes, pale flesh, and an overwhelmingly powerful aura. He stood a head and a half taller than Matlal, and he didn't think himself to be short. But there was something about him that seemed to make you cower naturally. Like your very body and magic knew that you were below him in all things.

The Dark Lord didn't look back at Matlal as he headed out the door with a sweep of his dark blue, satin robes.

Matlal was quick to follow.

**-Ballroom-**

_**Amun (Matlal)**_

"My Lord." The man whispered. He was of medium height, straight blonde hair (not the white-blonde of the Malfoys, but not exactly dark-blonde either) that only curled slightly around his ears, regular build, and with a rather forgettable face. The only thing that really stood out was his bright, sea-green eyes.

"Mrs. and Mr. Crabbe. How do you do?" The man, Mr. Crabbe, stared at their Lord, uncomprehendingly for a full minute before Mrs. Crabbe spoke up.

"My Lord, we are very well, it is very generous of you to ask. Is there something that you need from us?" her light brown eyes were lit up with astonishment, and she was practically foaming at the mouth with enthusiasm while still seeming to hold on to her pureblood dignity. It was very amusing.

Their Master seemed to agree with Matlal's assessment, if the mirth in his eyes were anything to go by.

"Your third eldest was Marked today. You must be very proud. Thirteen children, yes? That is quite a few. You must be exhausted being the only man in the house, aren't you, Mr. Crabbe?" The Dark Lord's eyes gleamed at the stunned man before him, before Mr. Crabbe seemed to snap out of his daze.

"Yes, it was quite difficult at first, especially before Vincens was born. I would have most likely goon mad if he had been born a girl."

Matlal looked at the mentioned child. He obviously had his mother's black curls, though they were so messy that Matlal wouldn't have been surprised to hear that the boy's hair had never been in contact with a brush. The kid's face was buried in his father's neck, and from what little skin Matlal could see, he was quite pale. Not as pale as their Lord, but pale none the less.

"Yes, yes. It would have been quite troublesome to have to have more children then you already do. Luckily for you, though, all your children are very beautiful." Mrs. Crabbe blushed a fierce red and had a highly pleased look on her face.

"Thank you my lord. That is very kind of you to say." She replied. "We are highly honored to have your recognition of our children."

The boy, Vincens, took this moment to turn away from his father to stare at his mother.

Matlal was frozen in place.

Green. The boy's eyes were green. Not the green of his father, no. It was a deep, dark, light-reflecting, crystal-like green.

A green that Matlal had only seen once in a person's eyes. The Hostem.

Matlal gave the Emperor a sideways look. Trying to assess his reaction.

Nothing.

Not even a blink.

Matlal looked back at Mrs. and Mr. Crabbe. They both seemed a little tense around the shoulders, like they too were waiting to see how the Dark Lord would react. Mrs. Crabbe seemed to relax when she saw no outward signs of aggression from their Lord, but Mr. Crabbe still seemed high strung. This led Matlal to believe that Mr. Crabbe was closer to his son then the boy's mother was.

"Ah, I only speak the truth, Mrs. Crabbe. Your fourth oldest, Belva, the youngest of the triplets, Rosalba, and your son, Vincens, are the only one's without contracts at the moment, yes?"

Mrs. Crabbe's face seemed to go a shade darker as their Master showed his knowledge of her personal family. "Just Belva and Vincens, my lord. I just found a contractor for Rosalba not an hour ago."

"I see. Belva is quite old for a new contract, at fourteen. You were quite lucky to snatch your seven year old a contract." Mrs. Crabbe nodded darkly, most likely thinking of her still unsolved dilemma.

"And your son, he is four, yes? He is bordering on bring to old as well." Mrs. Crabbe's eyes darted to look at her son, before ripping away quickly to look back at the Emperor. Her face seemed tighter somehow, and surprised. She looked as though she had momentarily forgot she had a son, much less a contract less one.

'Interesting', Matlal thought.

What the Dark Lord said next stunned everyone listening.

"What would you say to giving your daughter's contract to me?"


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

**Chapter Warnings: Voyeurism, Somnophilia, Troilism, mentioned Heterosexual sex, explicit Homosexual sex, Non-consensual, slightest of mention of: Anthropophagolgnia and Erotophonophilia **

"**One and the Same"**

**-Ballroom-**

_**Armand**_

'Marriage? The Lord wants to marry my daughter?' Armand stared at the Emperor for what felt like hours, but in truth, was only a few minutes.

Armand thought back on his daughter. A contract with the most powerful man alive was something completely different then a contract with fellow follower. It was a dangerous sort of different.

But also something that one couldn't say no to, no matter the person in question's reluctance.

"Are you sure my lord? I mean, not that I'm doubting you, but you haven't been in a contract since year 342 of the Dark Order. Why are you suddenly…?" Abelina cut off before she could dig herself too deep a hole to be able to crawl back out of. Her cheeks stained red again, and Armand felt a flair of empathy for her. He was suddenly very glad that he wasn't the head of their family. Trying to scoot around the subject without tempting their lord's wrath was something he couldn't do, and even Abelina, with her whole life of learning how to scoot around taboo subjects, was in a difficult pinch.

"No, I understand your feelings, Mrs. Crabbe. But I find I would very much like to have a wife again. As you have said, I haven't had one since 342, when Isis was lost in that…terrible accident." The Emperor's eyes were hard and shone with a dangerous light despite his friendly tone. Thinking of Queen Isis made Armand even more nervous for his daughter.

"Of course, my lord. We would be most honored to give our daughter to you." Abelina's eyes were glued to the floor between herself and the Emperor's. Armand could see that she also realized the dangerous position their daughter was now in.

The Dark Lord's lips pulled themselves into a charming smile and Armand had to repress a shiver. A feeling between wanting to fall to his knees and grovel and wanting to hightail it out of the room made his legs weak and his chest cold. His eyes also dropped to the floor in reluctant acceptance of his third eldest's fate.

"Your family is of course welcome to come and live with us in the palace. That includes your two oldest and their spouses. Hania is pregnant with her first, is she not?"

Both Abelina and Armand's head snapped up in shock, their expressions slackened with disbelief.

"Your majesty, I…I don't think I follow." Abelina's voice was stronger than Armand expected it to be, and he felt a moment of pride for his wife before it was swept away in the current of confusion coursing through his veins.

"What's there to follow, Lady Crabbe? Your family is invited to come live with me and my new fiancé at the palace. I can give you a week to prepare the move of your family." There was something terrifying in the way the Dark Lord looked at them, silently daring them to say something against him.

Armand had a bad feeling that this was about something more than just an engagement between his fourteen year old daughter and the most powerful man in the world. The cold hand of fear gripped his spine, telling him that this contract was just the beginning to something huge and most likely deadly.

He just hoped that at least some of his family survived through it.

**-Dark Lord's Chambers-**

_**Amun (Matlal)**_

Matlal stared at the tense back of his lord. The conversation from just minutes ago swimming through his head.

He was confused.

The Dark Lord had showed no signs of interest in finding a new bride, and he had definitely not shown any particular interest in the Crabbe Family (other than the fact that they were unusually large).

There was a bitter taste forming in his mouth. He prided himself in having the most knowledge of his lord, in knowing him better than anyone could ever hope to know him (other than the previous Matlals, but right now they didn't count). This curveball hit an unpleasant nerve. He didn't understand why their lord suddenly wanted to marry the Crabbe girl, there was no signs, no reason…

Matlal felt the pit of his stomach tighten when it hit him. He had thought his lord had shown no acknowledgement to those green eyes. He had thought that his lord hadn't seen it, or hadn't cared. He had been wrong. His lord had noticed and had taken measures to study it closer.

This wasn't about the girl, or the Crabbe Family as a whole. It was about green eyes and the mystery behind them.

Matlal watched as the Dark Lord's magic threw open his bedroom doors, causing them to rebound off the walls and making Matlal scurry through the opening so as to not get pummeled as the doors slammed themselves shut again.

Matlal felt the almost overwhelming need to say something, but the spell of secrecy that all Matlal's took when chosen kept his mouth firmly shut.

The Dark Lord paced across the floor, his magic filling the air and choking Matlal. He watched the Emperor turn sharply towards the bookshelf that was situated opposite the bed as he tried to force air down his windpipe.

His Lord stalked forward until he reached the shelves and reached out and grasped one of the tombs.

Jerking the book to himself, he pivoted to look at Matlal.

"You will say nothing of this."

Matlal frowned in confusion at the Dark Lord. Who was he to say anything to? His life revolved around the Lord, and even if it didn't, he couldn't speak at the moment.

"Ever."

Matlal nodded, still uncertain, but unwilling to disobey.

The Emperor continued to stare at Matlal, seeming to peer into his very being and looking through all his secrets and dark wonderings. Finally the Dark Lord faced his bed, his back almost pressed against the shelves.

He opened the book and flipped through the pages until he came upon a dog-eared sheet.

His chanting voice filled the air and Matlal found it even more difficult to breath. He feared that he was about to pass out, or worse stop breathing completely.

He felt the floor sway and closed his eyes from the expected embarrassment that he was about to collapse in front of his lord. He peeked through his lashes when he felt the floor stop moving.

Holy shit.

Through the newly acquired opening in the ground sat the once submerged throne. The boy was soaked through; black hair pressed flat against his head, robes heavy and dark.

Matlal never in his life felt the need to talk as much as he did at this moment.

The Dark Lord walked closer to the chair, circling around it slowly.

"Do you know who this is, Matlal? Have I ever told you the story behind this…person?" the Emperor spoke standing behind the throne, his hands gripping its sides. He didn't look up from the boy. He started speaking again before Matlal even had the chance to nod. "No. Of course you wouldn't know. I made sure his story was lost."

The Dark Lord reached over the top of the throne, gripping the boy by his arms and hoisting him upwards and around the arm of the chair.

The teenager's body was limp and he was supported only by the Emperor's own body. The Dark Lord lifted the boy up before releasing him, the only thing keeping the teen from crashing back towards the ground was the Emperor's magic.

He glided towards his bed, the boy floating behind him. The Dark Lord finally looked back at Matlal.

He crooked his finger at him as the teen was set on the comforter.

Matlal came reluctantly closer, perching on the end of the bed when the Emperor gestured him to. The Dark Lord sat beside him, the boy being the only thing separating the two from each other.

"Matlal, do you know why I make my generals-to-be become mute shadows before taking on their position?"

Matlal shook his head warily.

The Emperor smiled in amusement. "I do it so that they may understand what they are getting into. To show them what this empire is built on."

The lord peered down at the body.

"It is built on lies and deception; lust and anger and fear and desperation. I would sooner kill off our race than to be truthful to my people. What do you think people would do if they found out that they exist for my enjoyment purely? If they knew that I created this empire just to show that I _hate this person with all that I am." _

The Dark Lord reached out and grasped Matlal's wrist, placing his hand on the teen's chest before looking back up at Matlal.

"Feel him." Matlal's arm jerked back in an instinctual response to both the Emperor's words and the unexpected warmth.

"Ah, you feel his heat?" the Dark Lord forced Matlal's hand to slip under the robes' opening and he twitched again at the feel of skin on skin. He expected the boy to be cold. He expected him to be dead to tell the truth. He wouldn't have been surprised if the Emperor kept a dead boy under his bed.

"Yes, he is still alive." The Dark Lord chuckled. "I cannot kill him. Believe me, I've tried. He holds my soul, or a part of it at least. I want to destroy him, though. To tear his heart out and _devour_ it. To feel his bones _snap _and _break_ and _stab through his flesh_."

But Matlal still felt a sliver of fear race down his spine.

"He's beautiful isn't he? His temper is even better; so heated." The Dark Lord pushed his hand deeper into the robes. Matlal had to physically stop himself from jerking away. His head starting to spin, trying in vain to keep up with the lord's personality shifts.

The Emperor flicked his eyes up to Matlal's from the unresponsive body between them and a smirk flitted across his lips. He released Matlal's hand and sat back.

"I wonder how my fiancée will react to _him_?" He rocked forward and swung his leg over the teen, straddling his waist with his arms boxing the boy in, his face inches above the other's. "What would she do if she knew that while I fucked her, he was right _there_; right underneath us. Oh, Merlin, I can see it now. Would she scream like my first wife? Would she run like my fifth?" As he talked his face got closer and closer the teenager's before he stopped suddenly and sat back up, staring at the wall in front of him.

"Matlal, go get me number 6 from the harem."

Matlal felt like he had never gotten up so fast before in his life. He was more than eager to leave the Emperor to his creepy behavior.

It wasn't the first time the Dark Lord had acted strangely like that; bouncing from childish to psychotic in seconds.

Matlal stopped his mad dash from the Emperor's chambers at a pair of double, iron doors.

He opened one of the doors and stuck his head inside. Looking at the masses of pillows and silk draping, he let his lip pull up in a sneer. Half the people in the room were high and most, if not all, were barely clothed.

In the back of the room was a section of tall and broad beefcakes, talking loudly and mock fighting. Matlal zeroed in on one man in particular.

Number 6 was a large, imposing man. He towered over any normal human-being and his shoulder width was double the size of a regular person's. Muscles bulged out from all areas of skin, which was clearly visible considering he was wearing nothing but a loin cloth.

In Matlal's opinion, he was grotesque.

Nonetheless, number 6 was one of the Dark Lord's favorites. Though Matlal had an inkling that he was a favorite mainly because the Emperor took sadistic pleasure in dominating such a terrifying figure.

**-Harem-**

_**Jerald (number 6)**_

Jerald had a good life.

He was feed three meals a day and still always had extra food at hand. He slept whenever he wanted. He woke whenever he wanted. He had numerous women ready and willing to sleep with him at any given time.

The only problem: he couldn't leave this room.

Jerald was, for all intents and purposes, a prisoner; a prisoner who wanted for nothing, yes, but still a prisoner all the same.

The only freedom Jerald got was the trips to the Emperor's bed.

So you might think that when Jerald saw the Dark Lord's shadow in the doorway, he was happy to get to leave the room.

But, to Jerald, this was a hefty price to pay and something he would rather not do.

The Emperor was…cruel to put it lightly. He was not one to put himself beneath anybody and was known for choosing people who _looked_ like they could dominate him. This in itself was not an easy feat.

The Dark Lord was _tall_. Lean and only lightly muscled, yes, but what he lacked in width he made up for in height.

So when Jerald caught sight of the Emperor's shadow motion towards him, he felt his stomach drop in dread.

Jerald disentangled himself from his brawling partner and ambled towards to doorway. He paid close attention in ensuring he wasn't stepping on bare flesh as the majority of people on the floor were too far gone to realize that someone was trying to walk across the floor they were occupying.

Reaching the door, he followed the other man back to the Emperor's chambers.

When they reached the doors, the other stopped and motioned for Jerald to go inside. Jerald felt a moment of confusion take hold of him, the feeling intensifying when the other turned and walked away. The Matlal usually didn't leave him outside the door. Jerald shook off the uneasiness and took it as just the other man having something else to do.

Opening the door, Jerald came face to face with the Emperor. He held still, instincts telling him to not move as the terrifying man in front of him looked over his face, searching for something. For what, Jerald could not tell.

Finally after a few moments, the Dark Lord took a step back and Jerald followed, letting the door close behind him.

"My Lord, you required me?" Jerald bowed at the waist, one arm behind and one arm in front.

"Fuck him."

Jerald's froze, his face scrunched up in confusion.

"My Lord...?" He started, trailing off, mind racing to try and put together what the Dark Lord had said.

It sounded terribly like, 'fuck him'. Whom? Jerald was not entirely sure as from his doubled over position, there were no other feet around them and the Emperor couldn't have meant Matlal, for he had never followed them inside.

"You wish to top do you not?" Jerald nodded his head in wary agreement. He pulled himself back up and let his eyes flicker over the face of the man in front of him.

The Emperor took another step back, letting part of the empty throne show through from behind him.

Jerald stared at the throne blankly before his gaze swept across the room, coming to a stop at the occupied bed.

He took a hurried step back, his thoughts clicking into place. He really hoped he was wrong.

The Emperor stepped up beside Jerald. He wrapped an arm around the other man and forced him to take a step forward.

"I want you to fuck him." Jerald started to shake his head before he stopped, remembering whom was asking him.

He felt sick as he realized he _couldn't_ refuse. He had to have sex with…whoever that was.

The Dark Lord pushed him forward and he came stumbling to a halt at the foot of the bed. Turing, he stared pleadingly at the lord. Finding only a blank face, he turned back.

It wasn't an unfamiliar face that greeted his on the bed; in fact he was someone Jerald saw frequently, whether it was in paintings around the castle or in this very room beneath the floor.

To tell you the truth, Jerald was…curious. The boy couldn't have been older than 16. Black hair and smooth, youthful face with dark lashes and pink cheeks. He was beautiful and much to Jerald's joy, _alive_.

He gave a sigh of relief when he saw the other's chest rise and fall and cheeks flushed with blood.

Jerald crawled onto the bed and looked down at the kid. He took the hint of bare flesh peeking beneath the ruffled robes as an invitation and leaned down to nip at it. He glided his tongue upward and began sucking and biting at his neck. The boy's breathing hitched and his chest rose slightly, but other than that, he did not wake.

Jerald sat back up, knees boxing in the teen. A frown marred his face as he stared at the boy.

"He won't wake up." Jerald turned to the voice, brows lowered in confusion.

"I don't want him to wake up." The Emperor replied to his unspoken question.

Jerald turned back to the boy, lips tight as he realized that while he didn't have to have sex with a dead body, he still had to have sex with an unconscious one.

"Do it." Jerald jerked as both his loincloth and the boy's robes disappeared; the Emperor's thick magic settling heavily on Jerald's chest.

Jerald shifted uneasily before taking a deep breath and exhaling.

'_It's not like I can say no.'_ he thought to himself.

He repositioned himself until the boy's knees were hooked on Jerald's shoulders.

'_No lube either.'_ He surmised, glancing at the area around them. He looked back at the teen, _'I don't think he'd feel anything in this state anyways.' _

He spat into his hand and wrapped it around his shaft, stroking it to hardness with the thought of a big-breasted girl back in the harem.

Still stroking his cock, he sucked a finger and inserted it into the teen below him.

"No." Jerald's arm was jerked back. He turned to see the Emperor balancing with one leg on the bed, eyes trained on the boy's face. "No preparation."

Jerald nodded mutely and the Dark Lord released his arm.

'_Just do it quickly. Get it over with.' _Jerald thought to himself.

He positioned the head at the teen's entrance and push pass the wrinkled ring of muscle. Jerald grinded his teeth together, leaning his forehead on the youth's shoulder at the feel of the hot walls griping him.

He rocked his hips, eyes squeezed closed. He tried to imagine that the body beneath him was a woman's. A willing, soft woman with long hair and a wet hole that was begging him for more instead of a lithe teenage boy whom he was practically _raping_.

The boy's hole was tight, but lax. It was dry and the boy's inner walls tugged roughly at his dick, pulling at in uncomfortably.

Jerald shifted his shoulders forward, pressing the teen's thighs to his chest, in an attempt to get a better leverage.

On a forceful pull out, Jerald felt a rush of warm moistness chasing after his retreat and the next few thrust became increasingly smoother. A wet noise accompanied each movement of his hips.

His breathing started to labor. His skin slick and he could feel the coil in his stomach tightening.

His opened his mouth to bite at the tanned flesh, his hands gripping the legs hanging off his shoulders as he came closer to his finish.

He groaned against the neck beneath him, his body seizing and shaking as he released into the heat.

He sat panting as he came down from his high. He looked down at the boy, eyeing the mark on his neck. He had bitten too hard, his teeth had broken the tender skin.

He unhooked the other's legs, wincing as he pulled out. The blood sticked painfully to his dick and a steady flow of pinkish cum following after him. The sheets were staining beneath them.

Jerald found himself fascinated by the red color. He sat there staring at it for what felt like hours as the bedding was further soiled by his bloodied cum.

He was startled when a hand settled on his shoulder. He turned to see the Dark Lord looking at him with a blank face.

"You understand don't you?" The other man's eye's flickered over to the teen, "To keep the body alive, it needs energy. The mixing of bodily fluids helps _so_ very much in that area. You were a great bed partner, but unfortunately for you, your energy level was extremely high. To high for me to resist…"

'_What have I done?'_ He wondered. His eyes traced over the high cheekbones and noble nose of the other man. '_What have you made me do?' _he mentally questioned before slipping into darkness.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

**CHAPTER WARNINGS: explicit homosexual relationships, Anthropophagolgnia, Dacryphilia, and sexual intercourse**

"**A Madman's Empire Will Fall"**

_**One weeks later**_

**-Rebel Movement Underground Headquarters-**

_**Reilly**_

"Captain, there's been a report from intelligence in the Emperor's harem."

Reilly Everlest was a forgettable person. Shoulder-length brown hair, dark blue eyes, slightly tanned skin, and an average height and weight of a woman in the empire, she blended easily into any crowd. Neither ugly nor beautiful, her appearance had helped her infiltrate and gather information many a time.

"From whom?" She asked the informant.

"Akira Lawnaut, Captain."

"What did she say?"

"She says that one of the harem members has been acting oddly for two week now. Apparently it has something to do with the Emperor's mystery boy; if the man's ramblings can be trusted."

Reilly leaned back in her chair. She nodded her head to the man before her and he quickly left her office.

'_The Emperor's mystery boy? What does he have to do with anything?'_

She sighed and massaged her forehead. They were getting nowhere. Then again, they'd been stuck in the metaphorical rut for what seemed like forever. Her father and her father's father and all the fathers that came before had all been in the Rebel Movement like herself, yet there had been no break, no clue, no nothing in so long. The only thing that held this _group_ together was the overall hatred for the Emperor.

Any information they got their hands on was either useless or already common knowledge.

It infuriated her.

Reilly sighed again and looked at the folder the informant had set on her desk. She picked it and stared at the tab.

"The Emperor's mystery boy, huh?" she huffed, throwing the folder back down and turning to look out the window.

**-The Emperor's Palace-**

_**Armand**_

A week. A week since the Emperor announced the engagement between himself and Armand's daughter. A week of packing. A week of _worry._

"This is a great honor for our family." Abelina whispered in his ear, wrapping her arms around his shoulder from behind. "It would do you well to stop sulking."

Armand sighed and gently squeezed his friend's arm.

"I am not _sulking, _I am simply uneasy." He turned around in her arms. "You must see that this is _unusual, _Abelina."

She leaned her head against his chest and huffed.

"There is nothing we can do about it. It is best to just go with it and not complain."

Armand hugged her closer, letting his eyes close and soaking in her warmth.

"You are right. We'll just ignore it for now. I'm sure it will be fine in the end." He breathed against her hair. His arms tightened minutely again.

There was one thing he was sure of, and it wasn't that this would end peacefully.

**-Emperor's Chambers-**

_**Matlal**_

Matlal stepped into the Dark Lord's rooms quietly, gently closing the doors behind him and turning away from them.

His eyes flickered across the room briefly before landing on the desk.

The Emperor was working; his quill scratching across the parchment in front of him in long, measured strokes.

Matlal waited for a second before starting forward. He took long, hurried steps towards the other man and stopped before him.

"They're here?" The Dark Lord glanced up to see his response and Matlal nodded his head quickly.

"I see. Good. Send a guard to take them to their rooms."

Matlal nodded again and turned on his heel to retrieve the aforementioned guard.

"Matlal."

Matlal paused before turning back to the Emperor.

"Ensure that the boy is situated separately from his family."

Matlal gave a slower nod this time before slowly turning back towards the door.

He strode towards it before something caught his attention from the corner of his eye.

He twisted his head slightly to see that Hostem was sprawled out on the bed still, the mess from a week prior had already been cleaned up, but he could still remember the scene he had walked into that day…

_**A week earlier**_

Matlal leaned against the balcony railing. He peered down at the working man below.

Dark skin, dark hair, dark eyes. Firm muscles and gleaming sweat. Hayden was the picture of pure desire in Matlal's mind. Strong and dark and handsome and mysterious and…

"Matlal, are you going to stare at me all day?" Matlal reared back, cheeks flaming.

Hayden's thick, dark laughter filled the garden.

Matlal stumbled away from the rail and quickly turned to sprint back inside the castle. His cheeks were red with the shame of getting caught staring at his…crush. He took hurried strides back to the Dark Lord's chambers, he needed something to do. Something other than stare at some low-blood gardener.

Matlal paused at the double doors leading into the room, leaning his forehead against the door and letting a rush of air leave his lips. Sighing, he pushed the doors open and walked inside.

Only to immediately regret it.

Matlal stood inside the room, just on the other side of the doors, and watched the scene that was playing out on the bed.

The Emperor had the male concubine, Jerald, on his knees, slouched over with his shoulders and face pushed against the bed. The man was silently sobbing into the comforter and grasping at the fabric as the Dark Lord moved in and out of him.

He looked so lost. His shuttered breathing was loud and filled the entire room along side the smacking of skin against skin. There was something just completely wrong with the image of the large man in such a broken state.

Over the sounds of coupling and crying, Matlal could hear the Emperor whispering quietly to Jerald.

"Don't worry; your magic will come back someday. I hope so at least. You feel too good to be thrown out quite yet. Though to be honest, I very highly doubt your penis will."

The Dark Lord's words only made the concubine cry harder, his hands fisting the sheets and trying to drag the cloth closer to him.

The action brought Matlal's attention to the mangled piece of flesh between the man's legs. In horror, Matlal eyes looked back to the Dark Lord's face, only to become aware of his blood covered mouth; a rather foretelling sign of just _how _the other man had lost his gentiles.

"Ah, your crying face is good too. I should bring you to tears more often; it's definitely arousing."

Matlal could feel bile rising up in his throat. He brought a hand up to his mouth to try and ward off the inevitable and he doubled over slightly.

As could be suspected, a rush of liquid rose up his throat when he heard the tell-tell signs of release from the Emperor.

"Ah, Matlal. I'm glad you're here, clean this up." Matlal froze as he heard the Dark Lord rise from the bed and fix his attire before gliding out the room like he wasn't covered in blood and pieces of flesh.

Moments later, after he had pulled himself together enough to do as the Emperor asked, he came to the bed and tried not to look as he waved his wand and disposed of the blood, semen, and skin.

He cast a quick cleaning charm on the concubine and a bandaging spell on his nether regions. A medi-witch would have to be called for later.

A hint of pale flesh caught his eye from the other side of the bed.

Matlal felt a vile liquid start rising in his throat again as he realized that the teen was bare underneath the covers.

_**A week later**_

Matlal walked up to the large family gathered in the open hall. The two guards at his back trailed behind him, one with the instructions to lead the youngest of the group and the child bride to the rooms two doors down from the Emperor's.

"Matlal." The three couples bowed lowly to the mute man, and the unwedded daughters and son curtseyed.

Matlal nodded to one of the guards and he stepped forward.

"I'm to take and to their rooms. If you two will please follow me."

Armand took a step forward between his children and the guard.

"You don't mean to separate us do you?"

The guard gave the man an unimpressed look.

"The Emperor has commanded it; are you going to ignore his wishes?" Armand deflated at the guards words and the man motioned to the children. Belva picked up her brother and walked around her father to follow to guard down the hall.

"Matlal and I will show the rest of you to your appointed rooms."

Abelina took a hold on Armand's arm and he looks up from his daughter's retreating back to his wife's eyes. She gave him a small smile and he gave a grimace in return.

He looked back towards the hallway as his wife dragged him away down a different hall.

**-Dark Lord's Harem-**

_**Akira**_

Akira leaned against the soft breast of the girl behind her. Her fingers were buried in a cascade of red curls, joining other hands as they spun the strands into intricate designs. She felt a hand run down her side and she turned and smiled at the girl beside her.

She smiled. She laughed. She whispered in ears and ran her hands down backs and arms. She played the perfect concubine. She was beautiful and seductive.

She was a traitor.

Her eyes landed on a hunched form over the red hair.

Ever since a week ago, when the man had come back wounded and shaken, Jerald had not said a word. He didn't move from his position against the wall, no matter how many times his fellow concubines had tried to speak to him.

Like a good informant, Akira had stayed close to the man, trying to extract as much as she could from him.

His mouth seemed to have been sealed, though. It wasn't until three nights ago, when he had woken up gasping for breath, did he finally speak to her.

He had latched onto Akira, shaking, with his mouth gaping wide and his words slurred and thick.

_**Three days prior**_

Akira wrapped her arms around the man and murmured comforting words into his hair as he came down from his nightmare-induced panic.

As the trembling stopped, she heard his whispers brushing against her skin. Gently, she tilted his head up to look him in the eye.

"What was that?"

His body jerked, his eyes squeezed closed and he continued repeating the words like it was a prayer that could protect him from the pain of his dreams.

"I should have. I shouldn't have. I shouldn't have."

Akira grasped his face more firmly.

"You shouldn't have what?"

"Touched him. The boy. I shouldn't have. I shouldn't have." He whispered the words over and over again until his voice trailed off and he fell back to sleep. Akira cradled the much larger man's head in her lap as she tried to make sense of the rambling man's words.

_**Three days later**_

She had quickly told her fellow traitor of the occurrence; letting the man's nonsense drip down the grapevine.

She wasn't sure if it meant anything, but it was her duty to report any oddness in the harem. And this was definitely odd

**-The Dark Lord's Chambers-**

_**Matlal**_

Matlal stared at the jar in front of him.

The Dark Lord had had the jar out when Matlal had returned from guiding the children to their rooms. A weird look had been on the Emperor's face as he sat looking at the jar.

The two orbs of lights danced around each other inside of the glass container, and Matlal stood entranced by their beauty.

'Who were they?' he wondered.

"They were traitors of the worst kind." Matlal looked back up at the Dark Lord.

The Dark Lord continued staring at the jar. His head was tilted to the side and his eyes were narrowed in concentration.

"Did you know that 220 years ago the Matlals didn't have to take the vow of silence?"

Amun looked from the jar to the Emperor.

"There was no need, because I trusted the Matlals enough not to do stupid things. But these two betrayed me and forced me to stripped the right from all Matlal's that came after. They are the reason you aren't allowed to speak."


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

**Chapter Warnings: Torture**

"**The Story of Isis and Thalia"**

Isis was a good queen. She was a perfect queen actually. Cunning, beautiful, and strong. So it was to be expected that the fact that her husband could care less for her rubbed her the wrong way.

Nothing she did seemed to please him. Nothing she said could impress him.

She couldn't understand why he had married her in the first place.

He wanted no children. He wanted no friend. He wanted no companion. He wanted no wife.

She was useless.

A trophy.

A tool.

And that did not sit well with her.

So she sought out any way to gain her lord's attention. Her intelligence was suppressed into nothing more than that of a child looking for its parent's attention.

She became petty.

She became foolish.

She took lovers from the harem, from the followers, from the _staff_.

And that is how she came to find solace in the Matlal, Thalia.

Isis had the Matlal wrapped around her finger quickly, and together they sought to end the reign of the Dark Order.

Their love and stupidity would affect the empire in ways that they could never understand.

**-Year 342 of the Dark Order-**

**-Training Grounds-**

_**Thalia**_

Isis was beautiful. Long blonde waves, dark black eyes, a healthy golden glow. She was the picture of pure perfection. And Thalia couldn't keep her eyes off of her.

Isis was sparing with one of the guards at the moment. Hair tied up in a French braid, a suit of dragon hide covering her curves beneath their thick skin. Sweat was forming on her brow, but there was no doubt that she would win.

She raised her arm high and let it come swishing down. Her opponent flew across the field and the guard's back hit the wall of the arena with a sickening crack.

The Matlal smiled to herself.

Yes, Queen Isis was the embodiment of perfection.

Her eyes caught on to her lady's black ones as she turned from her duel. She gave a minute nod towards the forest and Matlal gave a returning nod of understanding.

She slipped away from the crowd of onlookers and headed towards _their_ place.

She stepped through the trees and underbrush until she came to a small pond. She sat down on a bolder that bordered the water and waited for her golden lover.

Five minutes later, the bushes rustled, and out stepped Isis.

"Matlal," She held out her arms and Thalia rose quickly to bury herself in her embrace. "What is the matter with you, Matlal? You have been acting strangely for weeks. Tell me what is wrong."

"Isis, I don't know if I can go through with our plans. I am terrified out of my mind that he'll find out one day that we betrayed the Dark Order. He'll find out we're traitors and kill us!"

Isis pulled back and looked down on Thalia.

"You want to quit the Rebels?"

"No!" Thalia yelled, "No, that's not what I meant. It's just, I may know of a way to move the Rebels along."

Isis's brow creased. She wrapped her arms more firmly around her lover and let the other bury her head in her chest. She carded her fingers through Thalia's thick, brown hair in an effort to try and calm her down.

"What do you mean?"

Thalia peeked her head up to look in Isis's eyes.

"I have an idea. But…you have to trust me."

Isis stared down at her lover in confusion.

"I trust you. I will always trust you."

Thalia took a deep breath and nodded into her lady's chest.

"I think I know how to kill the Dark Lord."

**-The Dark Lord's Chambers-**

_**Isis**_

Isis paced nervously around her room.

Her eyes kept flickering from the door to the submerged throne to the bookcase then back to the door in a frantic cycle of one who was guilty of something.

The door creaked open and Isis stopped her pacing.

"Matlal!" she whispered when she saw the long, brown hair of her lover.

The other swept her eyes around the room before coming to a stop on Isis.

"Is he gone?"

Isis gave a frantic nod of her head and Thalia stepped inside the room.

She walked up to her lover and wrapped her arms around her. She stood up on her toes to reach her lover's lips but only to pull back and stare at her love in worry.

"Isis, are you okay? You are pale and shaking like a leaf."

Isis gave a jerked nod of her head.

"I…I am just worried is all. Are you sure this will work? Maybe we should just tell the Rebels and have _them_ deal with it. I-" Thalia raised her finger to shush her taller lover.

"We are the only ones who can do this. No one else has access to this room but us." Isis gave a slow nod before relaxing into Thalia's arms.

"You are right. So what must we do exactly again?"

The Matlal gave another once over of Isis before backing away and turning towards the rest of the room.

"The Emperor is immortal as he is now, but if we can find a way to make him mortal, he will be easier to kill."

"How do you suppose we do that?"

Thalia smirked over her shoulder.

"Being a Matlal comes with many perks. The Emperor lets you know many things that others couldn't even imagine in their wildest dreams." She nodded at the bookcase, "There is a book in there that will raise the body underneath. If we break the jar on the desk and kill the boy, the Dark Lord will lose his immortality."

Isis looked unconvinced. "Are you sure? What good will it do killing the Hostem?"

Thalia stopped searching through the bookshelf and turned towards Isis.

"No, I'm not sure. I'm not sure at all. But I do know that that jar and that boy are very important to the Emperor. And you and I both know the Dark Lord cares for no one but himself, so it is only plausible that they both somehow keep the Emperor alive in some way."

Isis bit her lip and looked around the room nervously again as the Matlal continued her quest.

"I can see what you mean, but…" Isis trailed off and Thalia stopped her search again.

"But what?"

"Say we do make him mortal. He is still way more powerful than us. How are we going to kill him?"

Thalia shrugged her shoulders.

"I was kind of hoping we could get catch him with the element of surprise."

Isis's mouth slackened in shock and she stared at her sheepish lover.

"It's all we got, love."

Isis slowly closed her gaping mouth before going over to help the Matlal.

Together, they scourged the shelf; pulling book after book out.

"Ah! Found it." Isis stopped and went to her lover's side.

"Go get the jar, Isis. I'll start the chant."

Isis left for the desk as Thalia started to read out the runes from the dog-eared page from the book.

She stumbled when the floor started shaking and she looked back to see the throne had risen from the water underneath the glass. Her eyes caught with Thalia's and they grinned excitedly at each other. This just might actually work.

She straightened back up from her stumble and grasped the jar in her hands. Turning back towards the Matlal, she froze.

"My lord."

The Emperor stood in the doorway of the room. His magic settled heavily on both of the girls' chest.

"What do you think you two are doing exactly?"

"My lord, we wer-" before Isis could finish speaking, Thalia pointed her wand at her and flung the jar from her grasp.

The container crashed into the floor and shattered, the orb inside of it dispersed into the air.

Thalia turned back towards the throne, but before she could raise her arm to end the boy's life, both she and Isis were suspended in the air, their wands discarded into a corner of the room.

Isis struggled momentarily in the invisible hold before she saw the Emperor's face and froze again.

The Dark Lord's face has twisted into a terrifyingly cold façade. The only emotion that gleamed through was the utter sadistic bloodlust in his red eyes. He stared at the broken jar for five minutes before he turned his gaze back at the two women.

"My wife, my Matlal, may I ask what you two think you're doing?"

Both of them kept their mouths shut as the Emperor ambled forward.

"You broke my jar. You released my prisoner." He stopped in front of their dangling bodies.

"You betrayed me? Why? You couldn't possible think you could have ever actually beat me. So why do this?"

"Because you are a monster." Thalia spat at him.

The Dark Lord raised his brow.

"A monster? Oh, my dears, you haven't seen the worst of me yet." He pointed his wand at them and a red light erupted from the end of it. The girls' bodies contorted and their screams bounced off the walls of the room.

He dropped them back to the ground and waited for them to get their bearings before immobilizing them.

"I'll show you how monstrous I can be." He pointed his wand back at them and started casting curse after curse.

Their blood started to boil until it started cooking their flesh. Their bones snapped and broke through the skin of their arms and legs. Their tongues grew until they could no longer breathe. Their ribs broke outwards, opening their chest cavities and exposing their lungs.

He tortured them until they where nothing but unrecognizable lumps of living flesh.

"I gave you both too much leeway. It's too late to rectify that with you, but I'll be sure to change that in the future." He pointed his wand at the broken glass on the floor and repaired it. "You two want to be together forever, don't you? I think I can manage that."


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

**Chapter Warnings: smoking, Dacryphilia, Chronophilia, Pedophilic intercourse, Biastrophilia**

"**Fire and Smoke"**

**-Castle Gardens -**

_**Hayden**_

Hayden raised the cigarette to his lips and took a slow draw. He leaned back on the stone bench and stared up at the graying sky as he let the smoke out through his nose.

Amun Rortary. Only 18 and already set to be the next General. His family was deeply rooted in the Dark Arts, both his parents known for their dark magic and high status. If there was one person who would not betray the Emperor, it would be the Matlal.

A dark smile crept up on the gardener's tan face.

'We'll just have to change that.'

**-Emperor's Castle- **

_**Matlal**_

Amun was frantically running down the hallways. He had already crashed into quite a few guards and had had one too many run ins with the Crabbe girls

Why? Because Matlal had lost the boy again.

He was really starting to wonder if the four year old was doing it on purpose just to give him early graying, because this was the fifth time in two days that the brat had disappeared on him.

He could just imagine the face the Emperor would give him if he came looking for the boy only to find that Matlal had misplaced him somewhere in the castle.

Oh Merlin, he hoped the boy was still in the castle.

Matlal came skidding, rather ungracefully, into the throne room when he saw wisp of smoke rising from under the doorway.

'Shit, please don't tell me…'

Matlal felt bile rise in his throat as he saw the boy standing in the burning room when he pulled open the door.

'Of all the motherfucking places he could end up in, it just had to be the place on fire.' He thought bitterly as he raced into the room and practically threw the kid over his shoulder.

A swarm of guards raced past him as he ran out of the room and into the hallway.

This kid either had some serious pyromania problems or he had an affinity for fire because this was the second time Matlal had found him in a burning area.

A swore to Merlin this kid would get him killed one way or another.

**-Rebel Movement Underground Headquarters-**

_**Reilly**_

Reilly stared in shock at the letter on her desk.

This wasn't the first time a member had brought in an old family relic from the depths of their vaults, but this _was _the first time that the relic actually offered something worthwhile.

She looked back up at the man who had brought it to her.

Coy Lestrange worked as a castle guard but had been part of the Rebels for many years. He didn't speak much from Reilly's experiences with him, and he acted as more of a watchman for fellow Rebels in the castle walls than an actual spy.

So it was with a sort of curious frown that Reilly had opened the letter. She didn't know what she expected, but it definitely wasn't what she received.

The letter was old. Very old. The date inside stated that it was written some time before the Dark Order even began.

It was written as a diary entry rather than an actual letter and something told Reilly that it probably_ was _a diary seeing as the letter was addressed to no one in particular_. _

The person who had written it was either really distressed or insane. Possibly both.

The letter was a scrabble of half finished sentences and jerky words. But from what Reilly could make out of it, the letter was cursing the goblin bank and calling it "unsafe" and the goblins "untrustworthy" (which Reilly highly doubted because the bank had been used for centuries and nothing had ever been stolen or misplaced). Reilly would have just ignored the letter if it wasn't for one thing that caught her eye.

The writer of the letter had stopped cursing the bank towards the end, and instead started cursing "the Potter brat" for stealing "the cup" that their master had given to them due to "their loyalty" for safe keeping.

Reilly had never heard of the Potter Family and she had certainly never heard of anyone breaking into Gringotts.

She looked back up at the Lestrange and gave him a piercing look.

"I want you to go back to your vault and look for anything pertaining to the Potter Family or a lost cup." Lestrange nodded and left.

Reilly leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes.

She would have to have all of the Rebel members go through their family vaults for any mention of this "Potter brat" that had apparently stolen from the most secure Wizarding bank in the world and gotten away with it.

There was no absolute way to be sure that the writer's mad words had any weight to them, but Reilly was getting desperate the more days that passed with no new news.

**-Castle Gardens-**

_**Matlal**_

Matlal leaned against the tree at the edge of the garden. The sky was a dark shade of gray and the air had the heavy scent of rain.

Matlal closed his eyes and rested the back of his head on the bark of the tree. He contemplated going inside but thought better of it when he remembered the series of burnt frames around the hallways. He had given up on watching the child after the incident in the throne room and instead had thrown the boy at his father and fled the castle.

Not his best moment, but he was a bit desperate.

He took a deep breath of the moist air before his eyes flew open and he bend double as he attempted to hack up his lungs.

He felt a large hand fall on his back.

"Can't handle a bit of smoke, can you?"

Matlal straightened his posture and fixed a glare at the man.

Hayden smirked around the cigarette in his mouth and Matlal took a further step back when he realized who the other man was. He blinked up at the man before he came back to his senses and snatched the fag from his mouth.

Hayden just gave him a look before pulling out another stick and placing the unlit smoke in his mouth while continuing eye contact with the shorter man.

"Alright, no smoking." He gave Matlal a lop-sided grin, which the other man did not return.

"What are you doing in the gardens anyway? Shouldn't you be pampering the king?" Matlal stared at the other man in shock, his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide.

He then commenced sputtering at the taller man for five minutes, before finally seeming to gain his bearings again.

The other man didn't seem to mind watching the other struggle and instead continued leaning against the tree and watching in amusement as the shorter man flail about.

"I wonder if you are as feisty in bed aas you are out here." Matlal once again seemed to freeze in shock and turned a startling shade of bright red before he pivoted and stalking away back towards the castle.

Hayden watched Matlal's retreating back before bringing his wand up to light his cigarette.

'Well, I think that went well.' He mused to himself as he took a long pull on his fag. 'Yes, it went very well indeed.'

**-Emperor's Castle-**

_**Armand**_

Armand held the candle in his hands up higher and brought his sleeping son closer to his chest.

He would much rather be sleeping in bed then walking down the dark corridor back to his son's room, but Abelina refused to sleep near the boy. He really wanted to just kick her out of his bed and let his son sleep with him, but he knew it was best just to take Vincens back to his own sleeping quarters than fight his wife.

Armand once again raised his candle as he searched for the correct hall to turn down. He passed by quite a few portraits, most of whom glared spitefully at him for waking them, but the occasional painting of the mystery boy would pop up, blackened and ruined.

They were easier to see because they stood out so much. Unlike the other paintings, it was unmoving. It was more than just a little unsettling. Armand had never seen a still portrait other than the boy's, it was unheard of.

Thinking still of its oddness, Armand stopped as he came upon one of the boy's ruined paintings. Its face had been scorched off and the frame was blackened with soot.

Armand took a step towards it and tilted his head curiously. There were a lot of fires recently in the castle. They weren't sure what was causing them, but Armand thought it strange that the only things being set on fire was the boy's portraits. Even the large one in the throne room hadn't been spared.

"It's quite sad. He had such a beautiful face." Armand jumped back in shock and turned towards his lord. "To be ruined like this is truly a tragedy. _He_ wouldn't have minded, of course. In fact, he would probably have preferred it; he didn't like attention."

Armand didn't know how to reply to that, so he just nodded his head furiously.

"You look tired." The Dark Lord commented before reaching his arms out to the other man. "Let me take him to bed."

Armand forgot for a moment just whom he was talking to and gripped his son closer to him, tilting his body away. He stopped when he realized what he was doing and turned back towards the taller man. He looked down at his son and carefully handed his sleeping body over to the Dark Lord.

The Emperor cradled Vincens in his arms and directed his entire attention to the boy.

The Emperor had already turned and started walking away by the time Armand actually started moving back towards his room.

**-Emperor's Chambers-**

_**Voldemort**_

Voldemort couldn't help but to compare them.

Laid out on the bed, side by side, they looked almost _too_ alike.

Both of their faces were slacked in unconsciousness. Both had unruly, black hair. Both had pale skin. Both had pink lips. Both had slightly flushed cheeks. Both had small hands and small waists and small feet and small limbs and small faces and…

Yes. Side by side they looked startling alike.

But…

Was that all?

Voldemort couldn't help but to wonder if they had the same temper. The same scowl. The same voice. The same infuriating habit of escaping his grasp. The same soul.

Yes. Voldemort wondered if this child had Harry's soul.

His soul.

He reached out and ran a long finger down the boy's soft cheek.

So soft. He had forgotten how tender children's flesh were. How utterly delectable they could be. Especially when they cried.

He leaned forward and licked a line down the boy's cheek, stopping at his lips. He brushed his tongue against them and lapped at the boy's pink petals.

Vincens stirred slightly, his small hands coming up to push lightly against the grown man's chest. Voldemort grabbed onto one of the boys hands and leaned back from where he was crouched over the other's body. Vincens moved his free fist to rub at his eye as he slowly came back into consciousness.

It took his a second to realize that he didn't really know the man above him and he tried to yank his arm out of the other's grasp.

Voldemort let him and straightened up, watching as the boy scurried back on the occupied bed and cower against the headboard.

The boy didn't say anything and just stared frightfully at the much larger man.

Voldemort tilted his head to the side and wondered momentarily if the boy was mute, as he had never actually heard the boy say anything.

He dismissed the thought as unimportant and flicked his wrist, divesting the boy of his garments.

Vincens gave a fearful yelp and moved to pull the bedding up to cover his body. His eyes were wide in terror and confusion as he watched Voldemort climb onto the bed towards him. He tried futility to get closer to the headboard, his small fingernails scratching at the dark wood.

The boy's eyes flickered from the approaching man to the edge of the bed, but before his four year old mind could fully decide on what to do, the older man had already gripped his ankle and pulled him towards him.

Vincens tried to twist out of Voldemort's grasp, but he couldn't and he was left clutching at the surrounding sheets and twisting about as the older man's lips started kissing at his back and sides.

Voldemort watch as the boy tried to squirm away and licked up his spine, nipping on his shoulder blades as he passed over them.

He gripped the back of the boy's hair and fitted his lips onto the soft neck that was displayed in front of him.

The boy tried to lash out, his nails reaching back to claw at Voldemort's face and neck and Voldemort was forced to pin the boy's arms together with one of his hands.

He leaned back up and ran his free hand down the boy's side. When he reached the boy's hips, he slipped under the boy's body and fondled his small penis.

Vincens jumped in surprise and renewed his attempts to get free. He struggled against the other man and gave a gasping sob in frustration as he was once again unable to do more than twist about underneath the larger man.

Voldemort stopped momentarily to retrieve his wand and cast a binding and sticking charm on the boy's hands.

He leaned back again and caressed and massaged the boy's buttocks. Vincens snapped his legs together and leaned forward; bringing his knees to his chest and attempting to curl into a ball, but Voldemort yanked the boy's legs back into their spread position.

He cast another charm on the boy's legs to keep them apart.

Voldemort spread Vincens' cheeks and rubbed his thumb across the boy's opening.

Vincens tried to squirm away again, but he was stuck in place and he started to sob in fear and confusion.

Voldemort leaned over the boy's body and lapped at his tears. He used one hand to free his erection and pressed the head of his cock to the small hole.

Vincens sobs stuttered at the unfamiliar feeling and Voldemort pressed through the ring of muscles forcefully.

Vincens gave a shriek of agony as his channel was torn apart at the rough and unprepared entrance. He gave a shudder and his eyes rolled into the back of his head as he passed out at the pain radiating from his bottom and spine.

Voldemort started thrusting into the pliant body; the boy's entrance slickened by the blood. He pushed down on the child's shoulders and twisted one of the boy's hips, plowing harder down.

Voldemort gripped the boy's hair again and used it to bring the boy up so he could wrap his arm around the boy's stomach. He used the new angle to start pounding into the child faster and he gave a muted groan as he felt his climax near.

He released the charms on the boy and flipped his over. He pushed the boy's legs into his chest and went deeper and harder and faster as he started to near the end.

Finally, his thrust stuttered to a halt as he came inside the boy.

He pulled out after a minute of panting against the boy's skin and flopped down on the bed between the two bodies.

He lay there a moment before reaching out and wrapping one arm around Vincens and the other around Hostem and pulling both of the boys closer towards him.

He pulled the unconscious teen until he was almost completely draped across his chest, and buried his nose and lips in the teen's hair. He closed his eyes and inhaled the boys scent deeply before pulling back and staring down at him with an unreadable expression.

"I truly do hate you, Harry."


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

**Chapter Warnings: character death, suicide, self-mutilation**

"**You Can't Hide Forever"**

**-Rebel Movement Underground Headquarters-**

_**Reilly**_

Reilly rubbed her forehead in an attempt to rid herself of the oncoming headache she could feel building in the back of her mind.

Sending out a member-wide message was tiring and time consuming. She had to be careful that only members got the request and that there was a significant amount of time between each member going to their vaults so as to not cause suspicion.

It would take weeks, maybe even months before any real information was able to get back to her.

But it would be worth it.

If this "Potter" turned out to be of any real importance to their cause, Reilly didn't mind if it took years for the lead to show itself.

…okay maybe she cared just a little bit…

**-Castle Library-**

_**Armand**_

Armand was gracious for the castle's enormous library. It was one of the few places his entire family could all spend time together and talk.

He smiled at his oldest, Hania, whose stomach was large and rounded with his first grandchild. His son-in-law, Willis Longbottom, sat with his arm around her and was engaged in a discussion about a werewolf pack in Ireland with Kryspina's husband, Ignacio Crouch.

He let his eyes travel around the room before they stopped on his wife and Belva. Abelina was talking quietly to her, most likely about the upcoming wedding.

Thinking of the impending marriage of his fourth oldest and the Emperor had Armand leaning back in the chair he was in and rubbing at his face.

He had a really bad feeling about it.

Armand looked back around the room again and sat back up in his chair when he realized that his son wasn't present. He glanced worriedly around before he pushed it to the back of his mind.

It was still pretty early in the morning; he was probably just asleep still.

**-Castle Gardens-**

_**Matlal**_

Matlal cursed himself inside his head.

He really couldn't stay away from the infuriating man. The disrespectful, flirtatious, _handsome son of a bitch _that was Hayden the Gardener.

"Are you still mad at me, Amun?" Matlal looked up from the stone path he was following. His eyes narrowed on the taller name at not only his name but also the cigarette that hung out of the other's mouth.

Hayden raised his arms in surrender and let the cigarette fall out of his mouth and onto the ground. He gave a playful smirk at Matlal as he crushed the bud under his foot.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets and slouched his posture slightly so that he was on a more even level with Matlal.

"You know, I can't help but notice that you've been coming here more often lately." He tilted his head to the side and took a lumbering step closer to the shorter man, "And while I'd like to believe that it's because you've been wanting to see my handsome face," Matlal crinkled his nose and sneered at the other man, who just grinned again and continued talking, "I feel like it has more to do with your wavering belief in the Emperor. But my face is also quite a pull factor."

Matlal reared back and stumbled a few feet away from Hayden. He gaped at the other man in alarm before he clenched his jaw and glowered.

He turned on his heel and started to stride away back towards the castle, with the clear intent to get Hayden punished.

Hayden sighed and went after the other man. He gripped Matlal's arm and pulled him back around to face him.

"You and I both know that the Emperor is losing his mind. You should know that more than anyone. I'm giving you an opportunity to break free of the chains that are holding you down. You could join the Rebels and help us bring the Emperor to his knees." Matlal struggled to pull his arm away from the taller of the two, but he stopped when Hayden mentioned his freedom from the Dark Lord. Freedom from the madman that he has been forced to put up with for the last few months.

Hayden ceased his speech when Matlal shrunk into himself.

He pulled the other's face to look him in the eye.

"Just give it a chance, okay?" Matlal raised his eyes to search the other's face for a sign of treachery and lower them again when he saw none.

Matlal yanked his arm out of the slackened grasp and trudged away. He stopped when he got to the castle door and turned back around.

He looked Hayden in the eyes and gave a jerky nod before quickly opening the door and rushing inside.

Matlal moaned to himself, his eyes squeezed shut as he attempted to hide his face in his hands.

'I'm so screwed.'

**-Rookwood Vault-**

_**Nasir**_

Nasir Rookwood stared at the family tree and the book in his hands.

The family tree was old; it's births ending in 1980 and the deaths in 1998.

He wasn't sure way it was in his vault, exactly. As the family name stated Black and there was no Rookwood anywhere to be seen on the tree.

But then again, there was tons of stuff that probably shouldn't have found its way into the Rookwood vault. He had an inkling that one of his ancestors was a thief, or at the very least a hoarder with access to valuable trinkets.

Nasir shook the thoughts out of his head. That didn't matter now. What mattered was the names on the paper.

There in black ink was the Potter Family, and at the very bottom, as one of the last births written down, was Harry Potter.

Which means, that one: a Harry Potter existed, and two: his birth coordinated with the beginning of the Dark Order.

It was a good sign, yes, but it was the book that was of any actual value in his search.

The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts.

It was an old history text, dated around the same time as Harry Potter was born and was probably used by school children.

It didn't seem like a very important thing, though if you were seen with it now, you could probably be tried with treason. But around the end of the book was a slip of blank parchment, marking a chapter off.

Bookmarked was a page that could change the whole game. A page that could shatter the empire and bring it took its knees. A page that could bring new hope to the Rebels and a chance of actually winning.

A page titled: The Fall of Lord Voldemort.

**-Dark Lord's Chambers-**

_**Voldemort**_

Voldemort woke to nails biting into his chest.

His red eyes flew open and he grabbed the hands the nails were attached to.

Looking down his bewildered gaze met a pair of green eyes. The eyes were hard with anger and hatred and disgust and-

"Harry?" He breathed out.

His eyes searched the small face. The furious glare. The sneer that twisted his childish face and bared his little teeth.

"I'll fucking kill you!" the boy screeched before throwing himself at the larger, older man.

Voldemort's eyes widened and he caught the struggling, screaming thing and tried to hold the twisting creature away from his body.

The boy's hands where reaching out for his face and every now and then they'd catch and tear the skin away from Voldemort's cheeks and forehead.

Voldemort, coming out of his shocked daze, flipped their position and trapped the boy's hands over his head and used his knees the push the boy's legs together to try and stop them from kicking out at him.

The younger of the two arched his back and twisted his body about before he finally stopped moving and glared up at Voldemort. The boy lay still, waiting for the other man to do something first.

Voldemort seemed to be in shock and was only able to stare down at the boy in wonder before he let out a stunned chuckle which turned into a mad cascade of hysterical laughter that left the man bent over the other's body as he tried to regain his composure.

"I finally found you. I found you. I have you." He gasped between fits of laughter. He repeated it the same way Jerald had repeated his mad repetition of "I shouldn't have."

The boy seemed to just lie there and watch the grown man break down in front of him before a bubble of blood rushed past his lips and Voldemort stopped laughing as he watched the red liquid trickle down the sides of the other's face.

Voldemort grabbed the boy's cheeks and forced his mouth open. He gazed in shock at the tongue that was bitten in half and the blood that was quickly filling the other's mouth and flowing down his throat. The boy's back arched again, but this time it was due to the blood filling his lungs and the tongue that was partially blocking his airway.

"What are you doing?! Stop! Stop this!" Voldemort shouted, he let go of the other's face and stuck a finger down the child's throat. He removed his hand when teeth closed around his appendage. He picked the boy up an set him in his lap before forcing the child's jaw open again and leaning the small body forward to try and dislodge the muscle.

He let go of the boy and reached for his wand when nothing happened, but by the time he turned back to the child, he had already stopped breathing.


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

**Chapter Warnings: smoking, threatening **

"**The Tides Turn"**

**-Emperor's Chambers-**

_**Matlal**_

Matlal tried to calm himself as he stood in front of the chamber doors. He was already certain as it was that the Dark Lord knew his every thought, even without Legilimency, and he didn't want to be even more obvious about his agreement to betray the man who held his very existence in his grasp in front of said man.

Matlal took a deep breath and pushed open the doors.

He was assaulted with the smell of fresh blood as soon as the doors closed behind him. Matlal peered down at the small body in front of him and the puddle of blood that had formed under it. He looked away and clenched his teeth together when he realized the body belonged to the youngest Crabbe.

He kept his head tilted up in the hope of not having to see the small form again and looked around the room for a distraction against the rising bile in his throat.

His eyes caught on the hunched figure on the bed.

The Emperor was slouched over, one knee raised and clutch in one of his hands as he stared blankly at the boy in front of him. The sheets still covered him and his other arm gripped his hair, pulling at the strands.

From the angle the boy was positioned, it looked as though the Dark Lord had flung him from the bed and onto the floor. For what reason, Matlal could not discern.

"He was here." Matlal focused back on the other man. He hadn't moved other than to tighten the grip on his hair while he spoke. "He was here, and then he got away again. He always gets away in the end."

The Emperor's eyes flickered away from the dead body and he fell backwards onto the bed.

"Tricky bastard."

Matlal reached back and opened the door behind him and walked out without turning his back to the man on the bed. Not that it seemed that the other would notice him leaving; he had a feeling that he hadn't even noticed him entering.

Matlal walked away from the doors with a feeling that something had changed. That something had shifted inside of him.

Matlal started in the direction of the gardens.

** -Rebel Movement Underground Headquarters- **

**_-3 weeks later-_ **

**_Reilly_ **

Reilly looked over the offered materials in front of her.

There was a variety of papers and book and pictures and trophies scattered on her desk.

The gathering process had taken less time than she expected and had garnered a whole lot more information than she had even imagined existed.

Only three weeks. Three weeks of scourging vaults and dusty rooms. Three weeks of a constant influx of trash to be sorted through and categorized. Three weeks to finally find the answer the Rebel Movement had been in search of for hundreds of years.

A way to destroy the Dark Lord Voldemort.

The information was found in an old schooling book, one that should have most certainly been destroyed during the beginning of the new age when all text of its ilk had been pillaged and burned.

Reilly felt a swell of pride coursing through her at the prospect that this feat had been accomplished under her rule. It would be absolutely perfect if they could only just get their hands on the final piece of the puzzle.

Reilly sighed and lent back in her chair and reached for a picture sitting on the top of the pile.

It depicted a threesome of short school children in uniforms dating before the Dark Order. They were carefree and so painfully obviously _light _that it made Reilly nervous just looking at them.

But that didn't matter.

What mattered was the names on the back of the photo and the eerily familiar face of the middle boy. Harry James Potter, defeater of the Dark Lord Voldemort and son of James and Lily Potter, was the Emperor's mystery boy.

A boy who went missing when the Emperor won the war.

A boy who was as good as dead, and probably had been for hundreds of years.

But, Reilly could see that what the boy had done was on the right track if the Emperor admired him enough to immortalize him in such a way as he had.

** -Castle Gardens- **

**_Hayden_ **

Hayden waited under the large tree on the edge of the gardens, calming smoking a cigarette and waiting for Amun to show his face.

It had taken them a considerate amount of time to get in a position to work together. The bonding experience involved a lot a frustration and thrown objects with only the help of a little blank notebook to guide them.

Hayden was pretty sure the Matlal had cursed him six ways to Sunday by the end of the first two days (for he most certainly had written down quite a few things about his family less than perfect blood), but after the fifth day it became easier for the both of them to peacefully communicate with each other.

Hayden wasn't exactly sure what sent Amun on his way to the gardener, but Hayden wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth, and that's exactly what Amun was.

If there was one person who had a high enough rank to get the Emperor, it was the Matlal.

Hayden blew out a last puff of smoke before dropping the bud and crushing it under his heel as the side door of the castle opened.

"You're late." He stated as the shorter man approached him.

Amun gave him an annoyed look before scribbling on his notebook and showing Hayden.

"_The Emperor was freaking out about the Hostem."_

Hayden tilted his head to the side in curiosity.

"Hostem?" Matlal's eyebrows scrunched together before they smoothed out in realization a moment later.

"_The boy in the painting. The Emperor keeps his body in his rooms. He's really weird about him. Creepy-" _Hayden stopped reading and instead let the knowledge sink in.

"The boy's alive?" Matlal's eyebrows creased again and he nodded his head slowly. "New information came in from headquarters today. The boy from the paintings was identified as a Harry Potter."

Matlal raised his eyebrows in slight interest but he didn't deem the new info as overly important. Putting a name to the face was cool and all, but it was of no use to him.

"The boy, Potter, was born before the Dark Order." Amun's eyes flickered with a flair of curiosity at the other's words. "He was the Dark Lord's greatest rival." Amun turned fully towards the taller man, his attention caught. He tried to imagine the unconscious boy fighting against the Emperor.

His face twisted in amusement at the very idea of it.

"He killed the Dark Lord once." Matlal froze at the words.

'Killed?' Matlal wondered. 'He killed the Emperor? How?' Hayden recaptured Matlal's attention.

"If the boy is still alive, Amun, he can help us kill the Emperor." Hayden grabbed the shorter's shoulders. "We can defeat him with Potter. We have to tell Headquarters the news. We have to-"

Matlal held up his hand to slow down the other's words.

"_He's unconscious. I've never seen him conscious before, I don't think he can help us in any way. Not in the state he's in."_

Hayden read the words on the page quickly and frowned when he finished.

"We still need to report it, even if it ends up not meaning anything." He finally murmured, his brow lowered over his eyes as he tried to concentrate.

Amun nodded in concurrence and turned back towards the castle.

Hayden watched him walk away and thought on the new information.

When Matlal had finally disappeared behind the door, Hayden left the gardens and headed towards headquarters.

He desperately prayed to the Emperor that this didn't end up as just more useless information.

He needed a revolution, and he needed it now.

** -Castle Guest Room- **

**_Armand_**

Armand sat alone in his and Abelina's bedroom.

His wife and daughters had thrown themselves into Belva's wedding and Hania's upcoming child. They busied themselves with dresses and party planning, leaving Armand in his grief over the loss of his youngest child and only son.

He had never felt more angry at his wife in all his life.

She had shaken off Vincens' accident like it was nothing.

Like Vincens was nothing.

Their only son had died and she could care less.

Armand stood up from the desk and flopped face-down on the bed. He knew that bad things would befall his family when the Emperor had asked for his daughter's hand, but he would never have guessed that it would be a fire that took his beloved son from him.

The Emperor had held off the wedding for a few weeks after Vincens' body was discovered. He had said he wanted to give them time to mourn, but it seemed like Armand was the only one to do so.

His wife was poisoning his daughters with her unruffled attitude towards her son's death.

He would die before he let his children lose their humanity.

** -Emperor's Chambers- **

**_Matlal_**

Matlal relaxed as the door closed upon the departure of the Emperor.

The older man had been restless and paranoid since the "accidental" death of the youngest Crabbe child.

He had become ten times more violent and unreasonable, and Matlal was amazed by the fact that no one else seemed to notice except for him.

Matlal slumped down in the chair in front of the Emperor's desk.

He was so tired of this.

The constant fear that the Dark Lord would turn on him; the worry of being caught working with the Rebels; the inability to speak out loud.

Everything just really sucked.

Amun leaned back in the chair and his eyes fell on the body on the bed.

The Emperor had yet to remove the Hostem's body and Matlal would leave and enter the room to the sight of the Dark Lord staring intently at the body.

With the information Amun had gathered from Hayden, he could see the hints the Emperor left that pointed to the Dark Lord being fearful of the stirring of the Potter boy's body.

He constantly watched the boy. He had gone out of his way to ensnare the boy's replica, going so far as to engage the target's sister…know that Matlal thought on it, what would happen to the Crabbe Family now? They had lost their usefulness to the Emperor, so why was the wedding continuing?

A sound coming from the other side of the room drew Matlal's attention.

He looked over towards the Hostem, but he could discern nothing, so he stood up and slowly approached the bed.

Upon reaching it, he swept his gaze over the sleeping figure before dropping to his knees to look under the bed.

Not finding anything he sat back up on his heels and continued staring at the bed skirt as if he expected it to move and reveal the noise-maker.

A hand suddenly gripped his hair tightly and Matlal found himself face down on the ground with a knee digging painfully into his back.

"I suggest that you hold steal or you'll find that decapitation with such a small object is very excruciatingly painful and I will feel no regret despite the tediousness of it." A voice hissed into his ears as what felt like a letter opener pressed against his neck.

Matlal's eyes flickered fearfully to the person looming over his shoulder and his eyes caught on a pair of emerald orbs that he had only ever seen on two people in his entire life.

"You're going to help me get out of here, alright?"


	9. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

**Chapter Warnings: mass character death and major time jump (because, what the fuck, I can do what I want)**

"**How Not to Start a War"**

**-Rebel Movement Underground Headquarters-**

_**Reilly**_

Reilly inclined backwards after she had dismissed the gardener.

He had brought news about the Potter brat; but she couldn't decide if it was good news or bad.

Yes, the boy had been found, but was it of any use to them if he couldn't wake up? How would he help them if he, himself, was trapped and helpless?

Reilly leaned forward to rest her elbows on the desk and rubbed circles into her eyelids.

She wasn't sure how to feel about anything anymore. This was just getting much too complicated much too quickly for her taste. She would almost rather go back to being sure that they would be chained down by a madman for the rest of existence than this uncertainty and confusion over what the hell was going on.

Reilly sighed before straightening back up in her seat.

It was no use whining about it, especially if there was a chance that it could help them.

For now, it was best to sit and wait for more information to travel down the grape vine. There were still many Rebels who were searching through their vaults.

It was best to stay low as they have always done.

**-Emperor's Castle-**

_**Matlal**_

Matlal walked stiffly ahead of the hooded figure.

His steps were jerky and robotic, and anyone looking would probably think he was under the Imperius curse.

Which actually wasn't that far off the mark.

The shorter teen behind him had one of his hands trailing across the wall, his fingers gliding over the paintings.

His pace was unhurried and he seemed to be in no rush to leave.

He would slow down momentarily when he reached the unmoving portraits of…himself…and dig his nails into the canvas, tearing it, before it seemingly set itself on fire.

Matlal very much wanted to walk faster than the pace the other had set, especially since they were leaving behind a trail of fire, but he feared a knife in his back would be his only achievement.

Amun was more than anything, though, confused.

The teen had been adamant that they leave, but he didn't appear to be in any hurry. He didn't seem to mind that they could get caught at any second as people were sure to rush towards the alight pathway the shorter had left.

The boy wasn't worried that the Emperor could appear at any time.

In fact, the only thing that looked to be crossing his mind was setting fire to the paintings on the wall.

Matlal couldn't decide if he was annoyed or terrified at the boy's indifference to his surroundings.

They continued to trudge down the hall, Matlal leading towards the door that let out into the garden. He chanced a look over his shoulder, only to realize that the teen had stopped at the opening to a new corridor.

"What's down this hallway?" the boy asked. He turned his hidden face to face the taller man.

Matlal bit his tongue in aggravation.

He shuffled a bit to turn towards the other before bringing his hands up together and opening them in a mock of reading a book.

He could see the boy's lips quirk upwards before he turned back to the hall.

The boy set his hands on the walls and slid them to the side. A trail of flames of flames followed his palm and spread outwards, shooting down the hall and engulfing the entire passage.

"I suggest you start running."

**-Castle Library-**

_**Armand**_

"Where is Belva?" Amrand questioned his wife.

Abelina looked up from brushing Candida's hair and gave her husband an exasperated look, before going back to her daughter's blonde locks.

"Her dress came in and she's trying it on, father. We were just about to go and see it, actually. Do you want to go with us?" Armand turned towards Prima and nodded his head after a few seconds.

"Okay, let's go see Belva's wedding dress." Armand smiled at his daughters and Maia stood up to go and open the door as everyone stood up.

Maia reached the door and yanked the handle open.

Armand saw a flash of orange before his eighth daughter was engulfed by a quick spreading flame.

Maia gave out a terrified shriek before stumbling away from the door and bumping into Quin and Rubi, both of which also became consumed.

Armand could only watch in horror as a domino effect occurred in front of his eyes until all eleven of his daughters and his wife were on the floor, screeching as their skin burned and their hair and clothes turned to ashes.

He barely noticed when his own garments caught the flame as he stood frozen as his family crumbled in front of his eyes.

A few minutes later all that was left of the Crabbe Family was a bride-to-be on the other side of the castle.

**-Castle Gardens-**

_**Hayden**_

Hayden for once was actually tending to the garden (as was his job) when Matlal came sprinting out of the castle door.

The shorter man looked half-terrified as he barreled outside and Hayden had just enough time to drop the shears before he was flat on his back with a very hard-edged General-to-be plastered to his front.

"As much as I enjoy this, Amun, may I ask what finally convinced you that I am a more than good lay?" Matlal sat up with a glare and pushed himself roughly off the older man.

Hayden doubled on himself at the pressure to his ribs and lungs.

"That was uncalled for." He wheezed out as he unfurled himself, only to come face-to-face with familiar green eyes.

"Well shit."

**-Final Battle-**

_**Voldemort**_

"Why don't you just kill me, _Tom_?"

Voldemort's face distorted in disgust at the name before his face smoothed out again into a mock pleasant expression.

"No matter how much I want to, and believe me, I truly do, _Harry, _I quite enjoy living." He crouched down lower and tilted his head slightly to the side. "And with that pesky little soul piece weaved into your own, well…I think we both know that can't happen-"

A glob of bloodied spit impeded the rest of the Dark Lord's speech.

Voldemort raised his hand slowly to his face and wiped at the blob of spittle, staring at it with a blank look.

His hand shot out quicker than the teen could follow and his finger's gripped harshly at the younger's face and hair.

Voldemort brought their faces closer together and raised his lip in a snarl.

"That piece of soul can't stop me from destroying you, _Harry,_ and I'll be sure to desecrate you to the fullest of my abilities."

"You will never break me." The boy slurred out, the hold on his face and the wounds on his person starting to affect him.

"No; no I can't break _you." _Harry stared uncertainly up at the other man.

"What do you mean..?"

Voldemort gave a dark smile and raised his wand.

"You don't need memories to hold my soul, now do you Harry?"


	10. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

**Chapter Warnings: explicit homosexual sex, slight abuse, snapshot story, time skip, attempted murder, thoughts of suicide(sort of), amnesia, infidelity **

"**Decent into Madness"**

**-Hogwarts-**

_**Lucius Malfoy**_

Lucius Malfoy was in a very tight position.

He was second-in-command, you see, so he was privy to a lot of information.

Information he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

After the Final Battle, the Dark side had taken over Hogwarts; turned it into their own personal base.

The war was coming to a close, and all that was left was to come out to the public; announce that they had won, that things were going to change.

There were new laws to be set.

New protocols to be made known.

But one Lucius Malfoy was stuck doing _this. _

Baby-sitting this…person.

"You're getting more wrinkles, Lucius. You look like an old geezer." Lucius' eye twitched in irritation and he turned towards the boy.

"I wouldn't have to have this expression if I didn't have to watch your repulsive mug, whore." Lucius knew he really shouldn't have added the last part, or even responded really, but he was aggravated and the boy was pushing his buttons on purpose.

"Whore? I am a consort, Lucius. A consort to Lord Voldemort, no less."

"A whore nonetheless." Lucius mocked back at the teen in irritation. "Why must I watch you when there are so many more important things to do?"

"Because it is what I asked of you, Lucius." Lucius felt his blood run cold and he straightened his back and turned towards the doorway.

"My lord." He murmured, bowing his head respectively to the taller man.

Voldemort stared down frigidly at the blonde man before his eyes flickered over to the youngest in the group.

"Hostem." The boy's face brightened at the sight of the other man. "Go wait in the room."

The teen gladly bounced out of his chair in the study and went through the bedroom door, closing it on his way.

Lucius watched him go in apprehensive. He glanced back at the towering man beside him.

"Lucius," Voldemort started slowly, "is there are problem?"

He took an intimidating step forward and Lucius was quick to shuffle backwards.

"N-no, of course not, my lord." He shook his head vigorously in the attempt to show his compliance. "I just thought-"

"Perhaps you would do best not to think, Lucius. Someone needs to watch him. Always. If he regains his memories…" He left the sentence hanging in the air as he stared down the other man.

"I understand, my lord." Lucius yielded.

The taller man didn't answer and instead straightened up from where he was leaning over the blonde man, and looked towards the bedroom door.

Lucius took that as his cue to disappear.

**-Dark Lord's Chambers-**

_**Hostem**_

Hostem laid sprawled out on the bed and waited for the Dark Lord to finish speaking with the Malfoy Lord.

He did not like the man, and the man didn't like him either. They had a mutual hatred for one another and Hostem would not mourn the day the other would disappear.

The door creaked open and Voldemort stepped through.

"I don't like it when he's here; can't you just replace him? He annoys me. I want him gon-" Hostem hadn't moved from his position on the bed when the older man had entered and didn't see the hand before it was already tightly griping his jaw.

"You're being a nuisance." Hostem's eyes widened as the grip tightened. "Stop."

Hostem nodded quickly at the command.

Voldemort moved to lean against the headboard on the bed and closed his eyes; head rested on the frame. Hostem stared at the older man for a second before crawling over until they were face to face.

"Are you angry with me?"

Voldemort opened one of his eyes and stared at his amnesic enemy. A sneer threatened to form at the childish question.

Harry wouldn't have asked something like that.

_**Time Skip**_

_**Year 20 of the Dark Order**_

Voldemort held a pale leg to a thin chest as his cock thrust erratically into the younger's hole.

He pressed the knee harder down onto the body beneath him and relished in the flash of pain it caused to appear on the other's face.

He attempted to smother Hostem's moans by pressing his head into the mattress, but the boy was too loud to be drowned out by a couple of feet of padding.

The sloppy sound the lubricant made was both arousing and irritating; just as the noises the younger made caused his erection to harden and his annoyance to rocket.

When Voldemort came, he had to swallow the name that laid heavy on his tongue.

This wasn't his Harry.

_**Time Skip**_

_**Year 64 of the Dark Order**_

Voldemort watched in abject fascination as the skin started to discolor to a darker tone. Hostem seemed frozen in his shock; his hand hovering, but not quite touching the skin of his purpling cheek, as he stared, open-mouthed at the older man.

Voldemort continued to study the younger's face; the way his eyes glazed in shock and the almost perfect o-shape his mouth formed before those green eyes started to shimmer with tears and Voldemort struck out again.

The second slap was harder. Hard enough to make Hostem drop to the floor and bite near clean through his lip.

Voldemort stared in irritation as the boy let out a chock sob as the blood stared to well up and spill over his chin.

Harry would have fought back.

_**Time Skip**_

_**Year 102 of the Dark Order**_

Voldemort woke up to a pair of hands gripping his throat.

When he opened his eye to see crazed green staring back at him, he felt an undeniable rapture that it was Harry. It was his Harry.

"Who?!" Ah, but of course it wasn't. The shrill, unhinged voice was familiar and unwelcomed. It wasn't something he enjoyed waking up to and he had contemplated kicking the other out of his bed completely many times, but he always overruled the idea in the end. "Who is he?!"

He opened his mouth to reply, but his airway was blocked by the boy's fingers, so he opted to just lay there and wait for Hostem to calm down.

As he waited out the hysterical boy, Voldemort's mind wondered briefly to just letting the other kill him. To put an end to this disappointment; or to a least die with the knowledge that the boy would flounder and decay without him.

But, in the end, Voldemort decided that that was entirely unreasonable.

He did not go through all those years of trouble and pain just for a measly 100 years of extra life.

A rough shake brought Voldemort back to the matter at hand.

"Who's Harry?"

Harry?

"Why did you say his name?"

Voldemort frowned in confusion.

Did he say his name?

"In your sleep, you said his name. You said it, you said-!" Voldmort raised one of his arms up and covered the sobbing boy's eyes. Hostem stopped struggling and went lax in the older man's grip before slumping in unconsciousness.

Voldemort rolled the other off of him and laid in contemplation.

So he talked about Harry in his sleep, huh?

_**Time Skip**_

_**Year 105 of the Dark Order**_

Voldemort didn't know what to feel.

He watched as Hostem's eyes lost the glazed look it had developed a few years back as the memory curse was lifted.

He really didn't know if he was excited or just losing his mind. Giving the enemy his memory back was suicidal at most and just plain stupid at least.

But he wanted to see it.

The burning hatred.

The undying courage and naivety.

He didn't care what happened anymore.

He didn't care if he would get killed now, after only 100 years of immortality.

He wanted those burning green eyes and that delicious power to be directed at him again.

He raised his wand and bonded the awakening body, his eyes trailed almost in reverence across the face that was already starting to scrunch up as the boy became aware of himself after over 100 years of sleep.

Green eyes briefly flickered open to look at him before they squeezed shut again as the onslaught of 100 years of memory cascaded back into his conscious mind.

Voldemort stepped closer to the teen, his hand raised to stroke the twisted face.

Emerald eyes flashed open to glare spitefully at him despite the fact that they were still clouded over with remembrance of Hostem's life.

Voldemort's other hand joined its twin on the boy's face and he leaned forward, connecting their lips.

The teen's lips were lax at first, until the memories started to fade and he became aware of the thin mouth attached to his own.

Harry made a move to pull away but found hands keeping him still. When a tongue pressed against his tightly closed lips, he opened them and did the only thing that seemed appropriate.

To bite down.

Hard.

Voldemort pulled back at the sharp pain and blood started to fill his mouth.

He looked at the teen in shock before a smirk stretched across his lips.

Yes.

Yes this was his Harry.

_**Time Skip**_

_**Year 106 of the Dark Order**_

"Let me go."

Voldemort looked up from the paper work on the annihilation of a rebel group in Serbia and a rising naga disturbance in Laos to raise his eyebrow at the immobilized teen.

"So you can run away?"

Harry's eyebrow twitched in annoyance and he closed his eyes to try and get some control over himself.

"No. I won't run."

Both of Voldemort's eyebrows disappeared under his hair.

"Really? Do you think me stupid, Harry?"

"Where would I go?"

A thoughtful look flashed across Voldemort's face.

"Where _would_ you go?"

Voldemort flicked his wand and the invisible bindings surrounding the teen came undone.

Harry slumped into the chair he was seated in as his body was allowed to relax.

Voldemort continued to watch him with a cautious fascination as Harry made no move to attack him, and instead waved his hand in an offhanded motion signifying that the Dark Lord should continue his work.

"I want to kiss you."

"I'll kill you."

The Emperor didn't try to hide his smirk.

_**Time Skip**_

_**Year 110 of the Dark Order**_

"Fuck! Harder!" Harry's nails dug deep groves into Voldemort's back as his other arm wrapped around the older man's neck tight enough to choke him. "Shit!"

Voldemort chuckled into the other's own neck as one hand attempted to provide enough breathing space between his neck and Harry's appendage and the free one gripped the teen's hips.

"You're perfect Harry."

The teen let out a strangled moan as Voldemort hit his prostrate head on. The teen's legs came up and his ankles hooked around the older man's waist; his heels pressing their hips closer together.

Voldemort started to thrust faster into the younger boy and his hand lowered to the other's own erection when the coil in his stomach tightened.

Their lips clashed together in a sloppy kiss that was full of teeth and tongue and a bit more harshness than was necessary.

They both broke off into groans as their orgasms shuttered through their bodies.

Voldemort rolled enough to the side that he didn't crush the teen underneath him.

"I love you, Tom."

Voldemort wrapped his arm around the younger man and pulled him closer.

"You're mine. Harry."

_**Time Skip**_

_**Year 112 of the Dark Order**_

"Married?! Married, Tom?! What am I not good enough for you? Have I bored you? Is that what this is? Do you think that you can throw me away?!" Harry waved his wand erratically in the older man's direction; sparks flying off the end as his emotions became steadily unstable.

"I would never throw you away, Harry. I've worked too hard to get you." Harry's face twisted in alarmed shock at the other's words and with a swish, a light flew from his wand and crashed into the wall above Voldemort, creating a sizable hole.

Voldemort looked astonished by the teen's reaction but quickly sidestepped another curse flying towards him.

"I am not some prize you won Tom!" Harry shouted at the taller man as he chased him around the bedroom. "You will treat me like an equal! Or Merlin help me, I'll kill you!"

"I _am _treating you as an equal! I told you of my marriage didn't I?"

"After the fucking fact, Tom! _We _are together, are we not?"

"It's for political purposes, Harry-will you stop?!" Voldemort waved his wand towards the teen and the other's own wand flew out of his hand.

They both stood panting in the room as they tried to let their emotions settle.

"But you do not need to sleep with the whore, Tom. Don't you love me?" Harry wheezed out, his chest heaving with a combination of both physical and emotional exertion.

"I have to sleep with her, Harry. Unlike you, she is still a part of society, and as such, still in the gossip vine. It would negate the entire reason of marrying her if I do not show that I am human. I have to get closer to my people Harry. They are starting to pull away from me. They don't trust something that they don't understand; I have to show I am one of them." Voldemort walked towards the other, his hands cupped the teen's face and brought their lips together. "It's a necessary evil, Harry."

Harry pushed lightly against the other's chest and stared forebodingly up at Voldemort.

"You didn't say you loved me." He murmured out, their lips brushing against each other. "Tom…do you love me?"

Voldemort's hesitation was enough of an answer for Harry and he stepped away from the taller man, shaking his head and keeping their gazes locked.

Voldemort reached out towards Harry, taking a slight step forward but stopping when it only caused the teen to take two more back.

"Harry, you know-I can't- I don't-" Voldemort looked around the room in search of the words that could express what he was feeling. "I'm obsessed with you, Harry. Infatuated. My mind is consumed by thoughts of you, and other that my empire, only you. But I can't love you. You-you more than anyone should know that I can't love. Please Harry, come here."

Harry hesitated; his eyes conveying his confliction, before he stepped forward into the older man's embrace.

Voldemort kissed the top of Harry's head before separating from him.

"I have to go now, Harry. My bride waits."

Harry's warring emotions seemed to halt. His face blanking as Voldemort stepped away from him.

"Never touch me again." Voldemort's hand froze on the door handle.

"What?"

"You may never touch me as a lover again, Tom. I don't want you to ever touch me that way again." Voldemort stepped away from the door and back towards the teen.

"Harry this is madness. You are just angry." He reached out his arms again towards Harry, catching him as he tried to dart away and gripping his chin in the hand that wasn't pinning the teen's arms down. "This rage will pass, don't be difficult."

Voldemort leaned in to kiss him.

As soon as their lips touched, Voldemort felt the sucking sensation of his magic beginning to drain and he threw the other away from him as he grasped his own mouth in shock.

Voldemort whirled towards the downed teen only to see a smirk of satisfaction on the younger's face.

"You will never touch me like that again. If you do, I'll drain your powers dry."

Voldemort snarled at the boy and rushed at him.

The older man gripped the boy's hair with one hand and his throat with the other.

"Release it! Release it this instant!" Harry shook his head vigorously and grinned spitefully at the other man.

Voldemort's lips pulled back from his teeth and he drew his fist back and slammed it into the teen's face before dropping him to the ground and kicking him.

"Fine! If I can't have you, Harry, then no one can." Voldemort walked towards the bookcase against the bedroom wall and yanked a tome from its place.

"Who could have me?! I've been in this room for how long?! And I've seen no one! Not one person other than _you_." Harry scowled into the floor.

Vodlemort flipped through the pages as Harry struggled to get to his knees.

"Wha-what are you doing?" Harry slurred out as he wiped the blood from his broken nose. "Tom?"

"Searching for the Dementor's Curse." Voldemort mumbled distractedly.

"The wha- Tom! Tom, whatever you're thinking, stop." Harry rushed out as he turned over onto his rear end.

Voldemort paid him no head and his eyes lit up as his finger ran over a page.

"Tom, please." Harry begged out as Voldemort picked up the tome and turned towards the younger.

Voldemort cast the spell against Harry's pleadings.

_**Time Skip**_

_**Year 342 of the Dark Order**_

Thalia leaned against the bookcase in the Emperor's chambers. She was waiting for the Emperor to return from his meeting with the goblins, and, to be honest, she was bored out of her mind.

Her mind started to wonder, as it usually did, to Queen Isis.

Beautiful, powerful, perfect Queen Isis.

Her sweet and noble lover.

Thalia couldn't stop the flash of hatred towards the Emperor that ran like a white hot knife through her.

The jealousy that consumed her usually loyal heart burned her to the core.

The jealousy, as always, was quickly followed by a deep-seated regret and guilt. She was devoted to the Emperor, and his cause, but…

But Isis.

It was Isis who convinced her to join the Rebels, true, but in the end Thalia knew that no matter what Isis wanted, she would give to her gladly.

But how was she to end the Emperor's reign?

'_Kill him.'_

Of course.

But…how?

How was she to kill the immortal and all-powerful Emperor who had reigned supreme for over 300 years?

'_The body.'_

Body..?

'_Underneath.'_

Thalia looked down and stared at the submerged body of the Hostem.

'_Kill the body. Break the jar.'_

Thalia's brow creased and she gripped her head.

'What's going on?'

'_Kill the body. Break the jar. Kill the Emperor.'_

'How is that going to help?' Thalia questioned in her mind.

'_Kill the body. Break the jar. Kill the Emperor.'_

Thalia looked around the room with a frown and headed towards the door, wondering if she needed to call someone down to check the room for odd curses.

'_Fulfill your love's dreams.'_

Thalia stopped at the door and turned back to the empty room.

Isis.

Yes, she would do anything for Isis.

Thalia took a hesitant step further in the room.

"What do I do?"

'_The shelf. The book.'_

Thalia turned towards the bookcase and her eyes caught on a tome that glowed faintly.

She took it out and the pages started to flip through themselves to land on a summoning spell.

"What will this do?"

'_The body.'_

Thalia nodded slowly and put the book back in the case carefully.

'_Kill the body. Destroy the jar. End the Emperor's reign.'_

"How…how do I know it will work?" Thalia asked the air.

She received no reply.


End file.
